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Authors: Bob Massie
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impressed me even more, however, was Nana Mahomo’s attitude. While we fidgeted in our seats, flinching at the grotesque truths that the film implacably laid before us, Nana sat quietly. When the movie was over and the small audience asked him questions, he answered with an intensity both quiet and strangely majestic.
Though he was reluctant to talk about his own experience, we gradually pieced together his story. He was a member of the Pan Africanist Congress (PAC), a vigorous rival to the African National Congress. On March 21, 1960, seeking to spark a national uprising against white rule—and to gain the upper hand over the ANC—the PAC called for a general strike. Robert Sobukwe, the head of the PAC, personallyasked Mahomo to leave the country the day before in order to serve as an ambassador extraordinaire, ready to explain the new regime to foreign governments and to negotiate relationships for the new government among the family of nations. Instead, the uprising failed. Not enough people learned of it in time. Those who did congregate met a murderous South African police and military.
In the town of Sharpeville, white forces fired rifles, pistols, and machine guns directly into a packed crowd of protesters. Sixty-nine fell dead, including more than a dozen women and children—many shot in the back—in what became known as the “Sharpeville massacre.” Robert Sobukwe, in an act of brash courage, turned himself in to the police for violating the official “pass laws”; they happily arrested him and jailed him for the rest of his life. His colleagues were hunted down, imprisoned, or shot. Mahomo, watching these events from abroad, realized that he was now completely cut off from everything and everyone to which he had devoted his life.
For the next decade Mahomo traveled and spoke about the injustices unfolding in his home country. He encountered wide disbelief among his audiences. Beginning in 1969 he and a group of British film students spent three years getting various friends to obtain and smuggle out clandestine footage. He maintained his composure and resolve through innumerable setbacks. Slowly he assembled enough images and money to craft a full documentary. He knew that he faced potentially deadly retaliation. South African secret agents regularly assassinated “Communists” and “terrorists” all over the world.
The experience opened my eyes even more to the realityof oppression and tyranny. It was not just the people of the Soviet Union or Communist China who endured mindless cruelty from their own governments; governments that cloaked themselves in the language of democratic rights were also guilty. Nana’s patience and reserve introduced me to the realities of South Africa but also showed me how raw outrage was not enough to create change. The pursuit of lasting justice requires a depth of commitment that transcends the emotion of the moment. I could see that real leaders had to learn how to live with a slow, deep, burning passion for justice that was both a source of motivation and a wound. One never knew whether one’s actions would really have effect, whether one would live to see the transformation for which one longed. The dedication itself—ringed and supported with a hope and trust in the direction of history—had to be enough.
For some, the burden was too much or the answers never came. For others, including Nana, the frustration was rewarded with occasional moments of triumph that helped refuel the effort. A few months after we saw the film,
The Last Grave at Dimbaza
was shown on national television in the United States and won an Emmy. The debate over America’s political and commercial entanglement with apartheid intensified. New opponents of apartheid appeared among student, religious, and civil rights groups. And Nana went back to many more years in his restless and sometimes controversial search for political allies, personal advancement, ideological justification, and
Though he was reluctant to talk about his own experience, we gradually pieced together his story. He was a member of the Pan Africanist Congress (PAC), a vigorous rival to the African National Congress. On March 21, 1960, seeking to spark a national uprising against white rule—and to gain the upper hand over the ANC—the PAC called for a general strike. Robert Sobukwe, the head of the PAC, personallyasked Mahomo to leave the country the day before in order to serve as an ambassador extraordinaire, ready to explain the new regime to foreign governments and to negotiate relationships for the new government among the family of nations. Instead, the uprising failed. Not enough people learned of it in time. Those who did congregate met a murderous South African police and military.
In the town of Sharpeville, white forces fired rifles, pistols, and machine guns directly into a packed crowd of protesters. Sixty-nine fell dead, including more than a dozen women and children—many shot in the back—in what became known as the “Sharpeville massacre.” Robert Sobukwe, in an act of brash courage, turned himself in to the police for violating the official “pass laws”; they happily arrested him and jailed him for the rest of his life. His colleagues were hunted down, imprisoned, or shot. Mahomo, watching these events from abroad, realized that he was now completely cut off from everything and everyone to which he had devoted his life.
For the next decade Mahomo traveled and spoke about the injustices unfolding in his home country. He encountered wide disbelief among his audiences. Beginning in 1969 he and a group of British film students spent three years getting various friends to obtain and smuggle out clandestine footage. He maintained his composure and resolve through innumerable setbacks. Slowly he assembled enough images and money to craft a full documentary. He knew that he faced potentially deadly retaliation. South African secret agents regularly assassinated “Communists” and “terrorists” all over the world.
The experience opened my eyes even more to the realityof oppression and tyranny. It was not just the people of the Soviet Union or Communist China who endured mindless cruelty from their own governments; governments that cloaked themselves in the language of democratic rights were also guilty. Nana’s patience and reserve introduced me to the realities of South Africa but also showed me how raw outrage was not enough to create change. The pursuit of lasting justice requires a depth of commitment that transcends the emotion of the moment. I could see that real leaders had to learn how to live with a slow, deep, burning passion for justice that was both a source of motivation and a wound. One never knew whether one’s actions would really have effect, whether one would live to see the transformation for which one longed. The dedication itself—ringed and supported with a hope and trust in the direction of history—had to be enough.
For some, the burden was too much or the answers never came. For others, including Nana, the frustration was rewarded with occasional moments of triumph that helped refuel the effort. A few months after we saw the film,
The Last Grave at Dimbaza
was shown on national television in the United States and won an Emmy. The debate over America’s political and commercial entanglement with apartheid intensified. New opponents of apartheid appeared among student, religious, and civil rights groups. And Nana went back to many more years in his restless and sometimes controversial search for political allies, personal advancement, ideological justification, and
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